


Proserpina's Volition

by wickedthoughts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Blood, Bruises, Cas is Not Broken, Cock & Ball Torture, Demon Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Blade, Gang Rape, Gore, Hurt Castiel, King of Hell Dean, Kissing, M/M, Mark of Cain, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mood Whiplash, Spitroasting, Torture, Unhappy Ending, Verbal Abuse, Vessel Consent Issues, Vulnerable Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5796145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows he can't be saved. Castiel doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proserpina's Volition

**Author's Note:**

> I found this story unfinished in my drafts. I think it was a prompt, either directly from someone or a kink-meme prompt. If you read this and think, "Hey, that looks like a prompt of mine!" it probably is and you should tell me so I can credit you.
> 
> Anyways, this story is a little disjointed and hard to classify. Read the warnings as always. The non-con is between Cas and some OC demons, not Dean and Cas.

* * *

The demons measured the anniversary of Dean’s victory over Crowley in Earth years as opposed to Hell years. A concession to their King’s fondness for his former humanity. No one dared question his authority on anything, not after the way he’d defeated Abaddon and sent Crowley fleeing with his tail tucked, never to be heard from since. Whatever Dean Winchester wanted, Dean Winchester got.

Which was surprisingly little. Dean’s first act was to open the doors of Hell and let both demons and still-human souls come and go freely. His second was to disband the Crossroads Program. Despite the warnings of Crowley’s former council about the consequences of such an action, nothing terrible had come to pass. Souls still found their way to Hell, and they continued to become demons in time, if more slowly than with the tortures of old. Dean’s rule was the most lenient that Hell had ever seen, as long as he wasn’t challenged. Dissenters met a quick, brutal fate at the end of his jawbone Blade. The only rebels who remained were on the run like their former King.

Dean kept mostly to himself, allowing his council to keep Hell running in the ways he had dictated. He spent a lot of time on Earth. None of the demons knew exactly what he did, but the rumors told of a simple existence for the last Knight-turned-King. Drink. Fuck. Kill to sate the evil brand that had changed him instantly from man to demon upon his mortal death. Stay one step ahead of his former compatriots- a younger brother who had once been in line for Hell’s throne himself before he chose an alternate path, and a fallen angel ex-lover whose power ebbed and swelled. Repeat.

Dean always came back to Hell for his anniversary celebration, though. He would sit on his throne, a beer in hand, and watch the elaborate fireworks show the demons prepared for him each year with misty-eyed nostalgia. His eyes were rarely black. Another one of his idiosyncrasies that they put up with, because he was too powerful for them not to.

Each year his court would provide some special form of entertainment outside of the licentious bacchanal that ensued once the fireworks had ended. A black marble pedestal, two or three feet tall and wide enough for a human to recline on, was brought to the center of Dean’s throne room and the “guest of honor” would perform upon it. For the past four years it had been one of Dean’s enemies. Rebellious demons captured and forced to endure rape, torture, and other horrors at the hands of Dean’s loyalists while the King sat back and watched with rapt attention. He would never participate, however, and that always rankled the demons. He wouldn’t even participate in their orgies around him, he would merely observe them as if he considered himself better than the demon rabble. He would only fuck humans, the rumors went. Mostly women, but men as well, wooed and pursued on his own. The demons took that as both insult and challenge.

This year, though- this year the demons had captured something special for Dean’s party. One of his old friends, the former angel Castiel. Once so powerful, now brought so low by the loss of his grace. Forced to feed off the essence of his siblings like some sick vampire. The demons had caught him on one of his hunts, separated from the younger Winchester, and overpowered him. In his weakened state the seraph was no match for the horde of demons that had descended upon him. He’d barely even put up a fight.

They’d caught Castiel four Earth months before Dean’s fifth anniversary celebration. They’d been worried that wasn’t enough Hell years to make him a decent exhibition for the King, but they were determined to break Castiel as much as possible. Five demons rose from the horde of Dean’s loyalists, fighting and killing for the honor of breaking the angel. They stripped his human vessel, sadly empty of the human soul that he’d once shared the body with, and set about abasing him. They carved sigils in his vessel’s back and chest, to keep the flickering remnants of a grace stolen from one of his poor brothers contained and malleable. They beat him and forced him to listen to his flaws and failings. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he broke, remaining motionless when commanded, and writhing and moaning as they fucked him from all sides.

The night of the celebration, Dean viewed his fireworks as usual; echoing thunder and dissipating sparks in the high, dark space about his throne room with a hard rock soundtrack underscoring the vibrant spectacle. The seraph, or what remained of him, was crouched on the pillar of black marble. He was concealed from the King by a large hessian sheet in the same color as his long-discarded trench coat. The demonic crowd kept a respectful perimeter. Every so often, Dean’s human eyes would drift in curiosity from the fiery storm overhead to the hidden form of his guest of honor.

Anticipation for the revelation of Castiel thrummed through the revelers, electric and palpable. The five demons in charge of the angel’s capture and training couldn’t wait for the surprise. Couldn’t wait to see the look on their King’s face when he saw what they had done for him. Maybe, once he saw what had become of Castiel, he would engage in the festivities this year. Maybe he would finally turn his back on the vestiges of his past and look to the future of the domain he had conquered without fully grasping the consequences of the act. Perhaps, if this gift was well-received, they could get the King’s brother for the entertainment at next year’s jubilee-

The show’s finale exploded, rapid-fire and blinding, then evanesced into the darkness as the last chords of “Die, Die My Darling” faded in tandem. Dean pronounced the fireworks “awesome,” stretched luxuriously, and dropped his empty beer bottle to shatter into glistening brown shards at the foot of his throne. A demon scurried over with a new bottle, cold, dripping with condensation. Dean accepted the offering, opening it with his teeth and spitting the metal cap away into the crowd. He took a lingering drink, closing his eyes briefly in obvious enjoyment as he swallowed. When he pulled the bottle from his lips and looked expectantly at his loyal throng, the strongest of the Five stepped forward, male bodybuilder meatsuit shirtless and oiled for the occasion.

“Your majesty. In commemoration of your ascension to the throne five human years ago, it is our great joy and honor to present to you, the disgraced angel Castiel!”

The other four, similarly envesseled inside half-naked specimens of human beauty, pulled the coarse sheet off Castiel with a dramatic flourish. He was in perfect position, hands-and-knees with head bowed low, just as they’d ordered him to remain when they’d led him to the pillar and covered him before the King’s arrival. His oiled back glistened in the eerily lit, cavernous throne room. The permanent cuts of the arcane symbols stood out against his shoulder blades, swirls and circles, red and obscene. The magic prevented him from healing them. They couldn’t even scar.

Unseen drums began, beating an ominous tattoo on the outskirts of the celebration. The demon horde cheered and applauded as the Five circled the pillar, gliding in a practiced dance like orcas converging on a seal through the waves. Their unfortunate seal remained passively in place with his dark bangs brushing the black marble below him. The anticipation infecting the crowd became an unbearable excitement. They were so focused on the profane pageant unfurling before them that no one seemed to notice the way the King’s jaw clenched when he recognized the pitiful figure on the pillar. The way his eyes briefly flicked to black, and when they returned to green they were hard and narrowed. He observed, tense and unsmiling, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. But it was unlikely that any of the demons saw this. It was unlikely, because if they had seen, then they would have run.

The teasing prelude concluded when the strongest of the Five approached Castiel’s bent head. They grabbed a handful of the prisoner’s thick hair and yanked his face into the flickering light. Except for the quickening of his breath, Castiel barely reacted. His mouth was slack, his eyes vacant as he stared up at the demon.

“Like we rehearsed.”

The demon undid the tie around the loose linen pants they wore. The fabric slipped from their host’s defined hips to reveal an impressive cock, filling with blood. Castiel stared at its steady ascent, face still blank. Then he opened his mouth wide.

“There’s a good little bitch,” the demon groaned, cock sliding to the hilt inside Castiel’s mouth. “This is what you’re best at, isn’t it?”

Castiel’s cheeks hollowed and expanded as he made a small, humming noise of assent. The demon groaned again and began to thrust brutally. The other four shed their meager clothes and moved into their respective positions around the pedestal. One of them took the angel from behind, pushing a large cock deep inside his ass with no preparation, making their host’s bearded face grimace in discomfort. Castiel spasmed and made a small moan of pain, muffled by the first demon’s cock in his mouth. The bearded demon plowed into him, finding a rhythm once Castiel’s flesh had torn enough and the way became slick with blood and pre-come. They gripped Castiel’s hips, jagged fingernails biting into the as-yet unblemished skin. Thin trickles of blood ran down Castiel’s shaking flanks. His body was rocking back and forth with the force of his captor’s thrusts, but he managed to keep as still as possible and his face remained impassive. He had been well-trained.

The remaining three surrounded the angel, pinching at his borrowed human flesh, making him jerk and twitch. The miniscule tremors increased the pleasure of the demons raping his face and ass, and they shouted out their encouragements. To Castiel’s left, the demon wearing a tall, lithe body, reached a manicured hand between his legs and fondled his limp cock. Slowly, it began to rise with the manipulation of his tormentor and the angel gave a different kind of moan, his hips moving to rut into the demon’s fist. That was when the demon to Castiel’s right moved their hand similarly between his legs from the opposite side. Their host’s big, callused hand cupped his balls, a tight lump of flesh. A gentle caress at first, but then the demon’s hand tightened into a fist. The sudden pain, sharp and unforgiving, caused Castiel’s hips to buck upward as he unsuccessfully tried to pull his balls out of the punishing grip. His eyes widened, a squeal of pain replaced his hoarse moans, and the limited progress the demon touching his cock had made in getting it to harden was undone.

“Keep still, bitch,” the strongest demon admonished their victim, halting their thrusts into the angel’s mouth. “Remember your training.”

Castiel whimpered, but stilled. The demon squeezing his balls loosened their grip and the demon holding his cock began their gentle ministrations once more. They went back and forth, pleasure interspersed with pain in a maddening pattern that soon had Castiel’s eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned continuously, plaintively, around the strongest demon’s cock while his abuser’s satisfied groans mingled with his own.

The final demon, inside a large-breasted and thick-hipped vessel, was situated by Castiel’s head. Their head was bent to whisper in the shell of Castiel’s ear, their long bronze hair sweeping over their face. Their pink tongue darted in and out of the angel’s ear along with their tickling breath, causing more involuntary shudders to run through his body each time it happened.

“Oh,” the strongest demon grunted, hips stuttering, climax fast-approaching. “Speak up, Asb’el! Let the assembly hear your words to this pathetic creature.”

The demon called Asb’el raised their host’s voice, rich and melodic.

“I was just telling this thing how good it is at taking cock. How swollen its human lips have become around your shaft. How its place and purpose were always here, on its knees, servicing its betters.”

The bearded demon came suddenly, grunting and grinding unmercifully into Castiel as they clawed at his hips and thighs. They lifted his lower half off the pedestal as they finished, taking him from the hands of the two playing between his legs. When they pulled out, softening cock covered in viscous red, they dropped him unceremoniously and the angel struggled to keep his focus on the cock in his mouth while he repositioned himself on the hard black marble. The bearded demon panted, recovering their faculties while their colleagues continued the show.

“You’re nothing,” Asb’el continued loudly. Mockingly. “Nothing but a repository for demon come. Every demon in this room is your superior. You know it. And the King knows it, too.”

So far, apart from his minor reactions to the pain, Castiel’s face had remained blank and unresponsive to the demon’s taunts. With the mention of Dean, however, something inside the angel changed. His eyes looked up, a spotlight on Dean. A flush of blotchy pink started in his ears and stubbled cheeks, creeping down to his neck and chest. He whined with shame, low in his throat and muffled by the methodical thrusts of the strongest demon. His half-hard cock wilted and the demon fingering it was unable to make it rise, no matter what they did. They took to flicking his testicles along with the callused demon, alternating right and left. Castiel barely responded to the pain, just a twitch or occasional grimace. All his attention was for Dean.

“That’s right, you blasphemy,” Asb’el sneered. “You abomination. You’re lower than a demon now, and _he_ knows it. Your precious Dean Winchester, King of Hell, has sanctioned your debasement. Soon he will join us in defiling you, and you’ll _like_ it. Won’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened, but not in response to the demon’s taunts. He was the only one to see Dean send the second beer bottle smashing to the floor, straighten his legs, and unsheathe the First Blade from his worn leather belt. The King moved so quickly from his throne that the assembly didn’t register his arrival in their midst until after the head of Asb’el’s unfortunate vessel was rolling away underfoot. Dean’s usual flannel and denim outfit was spattered with sudden gore and his right hand held his Blade defensively after its return to his side from cleaving the head from the demon who had unexpectedly displeased him. His eyes gleamed obsidian, and through his long-sleeved overshirt the burning outline of Cain’s Mark could be seen. All the demons froze, wondering what Asb’el’s misstep had been. Wondering who would be next to feel the bite of their King’s wrath.

“Your majesty,” the strongest demon stopped their movement, cock half-buried in Castiel’s slack mouth. “My apologies for Asb’el’s impudence in presuming that you would engage in the entertainment this year. The invitation is, as always, on the table, but none should dare to speak for you.”

Dean’s black eyes focused on the strongest of the Five- now Four- and he snarled with curled lips and bared white teeth. The strongest quailed before him, though their vessel was much greater than the human body the King had retained. Dean grabbed them by the meaty shoulder, pulling them from Castiel’s mouth and whirling them around to face him. Fear blazed over their features as Dean slowly buried the Blade in their firm gut and twisted. A howl of rage and pain ripped from their borrowed throat before the demon burned away and the human remains collapsed to the floor. The remaining Three began to back away from the King’s warpath, varying degrees of shock flitting over their faces. The demon horde, sensing a new source of entertainment, stopped their retreat. A wall of possessed humans blocked the Three’s escape from the King, and they could only wait for their demise. Dean didn’t make them wait long. The demon with the callused hands went first, staring in shock at those hands as they clutched the suddenly exposed intestines of their host until the light sparked from their eyes. The well-manicured demon shrieked as their slender vessel was cut in half. The bearded demon went last, and they bellowed in desperate rage when Dean turned to them.

“Pathetic! Can’t all of you see? He _cares_ for the wretch! He’s no King of Hell! We were better off under Crowl- ”

The Blade embedded itself in the bearded demon’s skull with a hollow thunk. Blood and brains spewed and the body fell.

The demonic horde exhaled as one, their King’s slaughter complete and his bloodlust presumably quenched. Silent anticipation began to grow anew. What would the King do now?

“Get out.”

Dean’s voice was gruff and commanding, and though he didn’t shout every demon in the throne room heard him. The smarter ones beat a hasty retreat, but the majority remained momentarily stupefied. Their reticence sparked new rage in the King.

“I said get the fuck out!”

He did shout this time, as well as swing his Blade at the line of demons closest to him. Four or five found themselves with gaping wounds in throat and chest. Blood sprayed. Empty meatsuits toppled.

Panic rippled through the assembly, and the herd stampeded from his onslaught until every demon was either dead by his Blade or had successfully escaped the throne room. Dean stood on the outskirts of the space, covered in blood and viscera, panting raggedly, forearm glowing with sinister light, and Blade grasped so tightly his knuckles were white. Slowly he turned from the rock walls to the marble pedestal with its kneeling figure. Dean’s solid black eyes rippled and faded to green and white as he regarded the angel. Castiel had not moved from his pose of perfect submission, not even when his tormentors had been butchered around him and their blood had stained his hair and back. He didn’t move now, except to tremble slightly, when the King came to stand in front of him, sheathing his Blade.

“Look at me, Cas.”

Dean commanded flatly and Castiel obeyed. His head lifted wearily, blood and sweat on his brow. His face was still blank. That seemed to anger Dean.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Castiel blinked laboriously, forehead furrowing. Dean grew impatient.

“I mean, I woulda stepped in sooner but I thought you were bidin’ your time and were gonna blow ‘em all away or something.”

Dean paused when Castiel’s mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but after a moment his lips closed again. Dean scoffed.

“And then you start _blushing_ like a fuckin’ schoolgirl and I couldn’t just- I mean, what- what the fuck is wrong with you, Cas?”

“I- ” Castiel’s voice trembled with disuse. “I d-don’t understand why you’re angry, Dean. I did this for you. I- I thought this was what you wanted.”

“You thought- ?” Dean raised a hand as if to strike the angel, but caught himself. His fist clenched as it lowered back to his side. “What the fuck made you think that? When have I _ever_ wanted- ?”

“I haven’t seen you in years, Dean. Not since you became a demon. How was I supposed to know?”

“You know _me_ , Cas. Or at least I thought you did.”

Dean reached his hand out and briefly caressed Castiel’s upper arm.

“Come on, sit up. I hate seeing you like that.”

Castiel obeyed, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. He scrambled to sit cross legged at the edge of the pedestal, continuing to stare up at Dean while he shed his red flannel overshirt and made to drape it over Castiel’s bare shoulders. The demon paused when he registered the sigils carved into the angel’s flesh.

“Wait, here- ”

Dean used his ragged fingernails to break through the integrity of the sigils on Castiel’s shoulders and chest. They began to heal, flesh knitting together all over his bruised, bleeding body.

“That’s taking a lot slower than I remember. Used to be all,” Dean did his best _I Dream of Jeannie_ impression, sound effect included. “And you’d be back in fighting shape. This is more like Wolverine or something, what gives?”

“It’s- ” Castiel trailed off, tilting his head quizzically up at Dean. “What was that?”

“Wolverine? X-Men? C’mon, man, I know that had to have been in that pop-culture upgrade Metatron gave you.”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m familiar with Wolverine. I meant that sound you made. What was that?”

“You didn’t get anything about _I Dream of Jeannie?_ Really?”

“The 1965 television show starring Barbara Eden? That was supposed to be her, uh, blinking noise?”

“What, like you can do a better one?”

Castiel opened his mouth and made the sound perfectly.

“Okay, fine, you win this round,” Dean sulked. “Show-off.”

“Dean,” Castiel interjected in complete bewilderment. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure why we’re having this conversation.”

“Right, yeah, good point. Are you alright?”

“Am- am I- alright?” Castiel chewed each word carefully as if trying to ascertain some hidden meaning.

“That’s what I asked. They were pounding you pretty hard- ”

“Dean, you- you’re a demon.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“So why- why do you care?”

The King of Hell looked down at the bloody, half-naked angel. He opened his mouth, a faint smirk on his lips and a familiar twinkle in his eyes, but then he paused as if a thousand nonchalant comments had flown through his mind and died on his tongue. The question that emerged was quiet. Nearly reproachful.

“You think I don’t care?”

“Honestly, yes. What else should I think? You left Sam and me five years ago and you’ve been running from us ever since. We were out of options, this was the only way I could think to- ”

Dean raised a hand swiftly in Castiel’s face, cutting the angel off. Quiet anger radiated from the King.

“Whoa, hold up. You- you wanted this to happen? You let them capture you- break you- _fuck_ you- so you could find me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply, no emotional response to the trauma he’d suffered apparent in his voice. He looked unwaveringly into Dean’s eyes.

“I could fucking strangle you, you know that? Except you might _like_ that, so- ”

“I didn’t _like_ any of it, Dean,” Castiel bristled. “I didn’t want you to see me like that, but I didn’t _break._ I _endured_ it because it was necessary to see you at all.”

“Jesus! Fuck!”

Dean turned away from Castiel, shouting profanities into the darkness above. The throne room trembled, but the angel did not. He watched as the King paced in agitation in front of him, his hands in tightly clenched fists, letting Dean turn back to him and end the silence after several long minutes. His wounds were almost healed.

“I told you- well, Sam, but you were implied in that too- I told you to let me go!”

“Did you really think that would work?”

“No,” Dean conceded angrily. “But I thought staying away from you for five fucking years might drive the message home!”

“Sam will never let you go, Dean.”

Castiel spoke as if relaying an obvious, indisputable fact. _The sky is blue, the Earth is round, Sam will never let you go._

“And neither will I.”

“Goddamn it! Goddamn you both!”

“It’s a little too late for that, Dean,” Castiel’s face twisted into a rueful smile that did nothing to hide the sorrow in his eyes. “How does the saying go? That ship has sailed.”

The King of Hell raised a fist as if to strike the angel. Castiel didn’t flinch. He leaned forward slightly, as if welcoming Dean’s punishment. The demon froze, staring in horrified fury at the creature in front of him in human form. A powerful, if wounded, creature that was accepting whatever abuse he should choose to inflict upon him. Dean looked up at his fist, then back down to Castiel where he sat waiting for whatever Dean decided. Green eyes widened.

“Oh god, Cas- ”

Dean choked, and just like that the demon’s wrath deflated. The last Knight, the King of Hell, with all his power and strength, fell to his knees in front of the pedestal. He lowered his head, resting it on Castiel’s calf where it crossed over his other. Castiel’s composure cracked. He looked down in shock at the King.

“I don’t understand you, Cas,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s skin. “I’ve never understood you.”

“Dean?”

“This is why I didn’t want to fucking see you guys. I’m barely holding it together as it is.”

“Dean?” Castiel repeated, reaching out trembling, tentative fingers to run through Dean’s hair. Dean leaned into the touch.

“I’m a fucking demon, okay?” Dean’s words escaped in a frantic rush, tumbling over each other. “I’m a fucking monster, and I can’t die because the Mark won’t let me, and I can’t go completely darkside because there’s some stupid fucking humanity left inside me, and I ain’t gonna drag you and Sam down with me, okay? Because I can’t be saved, so stop fucking trying!”

“Dean- ”

“Look what I let them do to you! I’ve let them do worse, too, and I watched, and part of me liked it- ”

“Dean!”

It was the angel’s turn to make the throne room shake. Dean stopped talking, but he didn’t raise his head. Castiel slid his hand to Dean’s face, the other hand moving to cup Dean’s other cheek, lifting gently to look Dean in the eyes.

“I forgive you. Sam does, too.”

“No,” Dean wrenched his head from Castiel’s hands, but he didn’t move from his kneeling position in front of the angel. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I forgive you,” Castiel repeated resolutely. “I love you.”

“No. No you don’t.”

“Come home with me,” Castiel slowly took Dean’s face in his hands again, and though the demon twitched he still made no attempt to escape. “Come home with me, Dean.”

“I can’t,” Dean whispered desperately. “I’m the King. I’ve tried to take this- this curse and do something good with it. If I leave, Crowley or some Abaddon loyalist will take over again.”

“Let them,” Castiel said with a dark hint of malice for any demon who might try.

“I’ll hurt you,” Dean grasped wildly. “Or Sam, or some innocent person. I can’t.”

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” the angel promised calmly.

“By letting me use you as my punching bag?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

“No, I can’t do it. I won’t.”

“Dean- ”

“This ain’t some fairy tale, Cas. True love’s kiss, or some bullshit like that, ain’t gonna break the spell and save the day.”

“Have you tried?”

“Cas- ”

The angel leaned forward to where he held the demon’s face immobilized. Their faces were so close, noses a breath away from touching.

“Have you tried, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes, arms dangling limp at his sides in defeat, and pressed his lips to Castiel’s. The angel closed his eyes in turn and brought one hand to the back of the demon’s head, clutching at his short hair. The meager covering of Dean’s shirt slipped from his shoulders leaving him naked once more. Their kiss was silent and restrained, lips moving together in tandem. It lasted several minutes until Dean pulled away with a reluctant groan. He looked up at Castiel, eyes flicking black.

“It ain’t gonna work, Cas,” he panted, face pink. “I told you.”

The angel was breathing just as hard, his face just as flushed.

“No, I didn’t imagine it would. I just wanted to try.”

He stared at Dean sadly until his eyes returned to green. The King stood, swaying slightly.

“Looks like your healing factor took care of everything. Can you make yourself some clothes or something? It’s kind of awkward, havin’ you all hanging out like that.”

“No, I- ” a shadow flickered over Castiel’s face. “I can’t.”

“Well, then, keep the shirt, I guess. Tie it around your waist or something for when you leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah. This is goodbye, Cas. I can’t see you again. If I do, bad things’ll happen.”

Castiel stood to face the King. He was so close it made the demon take a step back.

“I’m not leaving, Dean.”

“Yes, you are,” Dean regained his composure. “Oh, and don’t tell Sam about this, please. It’ll just give him false hope. Take care of him for me. I mean, I knew you would when I left, but- ”

“I’m not leaving, Dean.” Castiel repeated firmly. “If you won’t come back with me, I’m staying here with you.”

“I don’t even- I don’t stay here in Hell, you know. I’m usually on Earth, living it up. Tequila shots and loose women, it’s good to be the King.”

“Then I’ll follow you.”

“Cas. C’mon, man, I know your wings are fried- ”

“Then I’ll stay here. I’ll wait here for you.”

“Cas- ”

“I found you, Dean! I finally found you. I’ll wait for you, and Sam will find us, and we’ll all be together again.”

“Do you have any idea what my demons will do to you if they find you alone here? Well, actually you do, but it’ll be worse- ”

Castiel chuckled.

“Do you really think any demon will dare lay a finger on me after what you did to those five today?”

Dean’s face clouded, demon rising to the surface. His right hand ghosted over the handle of his Blade.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You can try,” Castiel said dismissively

“Nah, don’t try and pull any of that alpha-angel bullshit on me. You’re weaker, your mojo’s fading. I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

“You can try.”

The standoff lasted until Dean blinked and looked away.

“Goodbye, Cas,” the King said to the floor of his throne room “Get out of here. Don’t follow me. Keep Sam away from me.”

He turned to go, but Castiel moved quickly, darting forward and wrapping his arms around Dean’s, pinning his arms at his sides. The demon struggled and snarled, eyes blackening as the naked seraph’s eyes glowed with holy light.

“Let me go!”

“I’ll be here, Dean,” Castiel said in Dean’s ear, his deep voice rumbling. “I’ll see you next year.”

“I won’t come back,” Dean nearly howled in frustrated rage. “You’ll never see me again!”

Castiel didn’t respond. He let Dean writhe in his grasp until the demon was exhausted. When Dean finally, finally, stopped struggling and shouting, Castiel let go of him and stepped back. Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel, pure hatred twisting his features.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean’s hatred faded quickly to despondency. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“You know.”

“Fuck!”

The King of Hell left his throne room with no other notice or farewell. One second he was there, the next he was gone, leaving Castiel alone, staring briefly at the empty space in front of him. The angel looked down at his hands, as if studying them for the first time. He looked at his human body, making sure it was whole after his ordeal. Only then did he look back to the place where Dean had left him.

“I love you, Dean. I’ll see you soon.”

One Earth year, roughly twelve Hell years, until the next anniversary celebration. Both insignificant figures compared to the infinite life of an angel. Castiel sat on the edge of the black dais and began his wait.


End file.
